


rocks

by astratic



Series: post sburb [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/F, au i guess? theyre immortal and very introspective about it, written LONG before act 7 lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 00:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astratic/pseuds/astratic
Summary: “What are you thinking about? It’s some grand and philosophical thing again, isn’t it?”“Not every thought I have is a lot of existential musing, Kanaya.”





	rocks

You lie on the beach and let the waves wash over you. You could become a fixture of this place if you wanted. Let the water lap infinitely at your skin until you’re worn away like the rocks that become the sand.

“What are you thinking about? It’s some grand and philosophical thing again, isn’t it?”

“Not every thought I have is a lot of existential musing, Kanaya.”

She smiles, and her fangs protrude just slightly beyond her lips in that way you still find maddeningly attractive, even after all this time, “Perhaps. But I have noticed that when you stare at the sky like that with that look of concentration your mind tends to do all manner of backflips. Forgive me if I simply wish to observe the show.”

You reach your hand up to twine your fingers with hers, “We could stay here.”

“For as long as ‘here’ continues to exist.”

“It feels odd, still. Looking around and knowing that literal rocks are short lived compared to us. Think: in a couple million years, this beach will be gone, but we’ll be the same.”

“We’ll move on. I don’t know if I quite agree with your assessment of our static state of being, however.”

You get up and lean over in the water to wash the sand out of your hair, “Why’s that? We’re not getting any older.”

Kanaya pulls her shawl around herself. The suns of this planet are setting, and it’s admittedly getting chilly, but you aren’t quite ready to abandon the water yet.

“I actually find it rather depressing to think that immortality may exempt us from change, not to mention arrogant.”

You laugh, “Oh, you know what I meant. Our bodies are the same.”

“Are they?” Her fingers trace patterns in the sand, “I think that separating growth of the mind from that of the body is a bit short sighted, if you’ll pardon my argumentative mood. Of course our bodies are not literally growing. But the way I view my hands today is not the way I viewed them a few centuries ago. They appear the same outwardly, catch sunlight in the same way. But they do not look the same to me.”

Suddenly your head hurts, “Who’s philosophical now?” You lie back in the water so that it flows over and around your face, speaking between waves, “Does a shift in self image really constitute a kind of physical change?” You spit water out of your mouth. It isn’t salty, like you’d half consciously expected. It’s a little bitter, “If I stare at a green rock long enough to convince my eyes that it’s purple, does the rock change?”

“Well, seeing as this rock in particular is hypothetical I would say it certainly does—”

“Kanaya, please.”

“Color is a highly subjective phenomenon. Tell me, on what level does the color exist but within your mind?”

“Are you implying that your hands are imaginary?”

“I’m implying that the concept of my hands is just as real as the physical manifestation of them. What are gods if not concepts in the minds of believers?”

“Who are the believers?”

“We are. The civilizations we cultivate and shape and lead are. Even if they don’t view us as gods.”

You sit up on your elbows and study her, “Do I look different to you?”

“Of course.”

“In what way?”

Her eyes slide away from your face and onto the horizon. The sky is nearly dark now, “You see information as immutable; truth and facts are set in stone. Recorded in books for future generations. But it isn’t. The words someone reads a thousand years after the fact are very different from those intended by the hand who wrote them. Which meaning is more real?”

“The person who wrote the words owns them. Their intention is the original.”

“But they’re gone.”

“But what if they aren’t? What if I’m still here?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all along. You’re not. Not to them, anyway.”

“To you? Do I look different, Kanaya?”

“You are ancient and beautiful. Unchanged, and yet shaped by the world around you whether it touches you or not.”

You smile a little, trying not to feel bewildered by her, “Are we a ruin, then? The desiccated remains of ancient beings long lost to irrelevance?”

She stands and offers her hand to you, “Irrelevance is arguable, but no. We are alive. That is the beautiful part.”

“What if I’m not ready to leave?” You take her hand and let her help you up.

“We are always leaving. It’s cold, Rose. Put some clothes on.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally posted on tumblr [here](http://azurenoon.tumblr.com/post/128296326373/rocks)


End file.
